


Soaked Right Through and Sorry As Hell

by jesseofthenorth



Series: I can't stand the rain [3]
Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe
Genre: Cussing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Slash, some gore and graphic barfing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-30
Updated: 2012-04-30
Packaged: 2017-11-04 14:18:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/394795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jesseofthenorth/pseuds/jesseofthenorth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He comes to feeling like crap and then it gets worse.</p><p>Immediately follows  "Come In Where It's Warm and Dry"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soaked Right Through and Sorry As Hell

**Author's Note:**

> Still pre-slash. Sorry, I am not done pounding on Barton yet. Will get there eventually.

 

Clint comes to in a car, and for a second he feels a rush of panic followed by pain and dizziness and nausea. He doesn't know where he is, and it's raining, and the light is all wrong, and where the hell is-

“Easy,Barton,” Coulson's voice breaks through the confusion and panic, and Barton instantly feels a little better except-

“Stop the car!” he croaks reaching for the door and thank god Coulson does because Clint needs out _now_!

The car skids to a stop and Clint leans on the handle, and moving hurts like hell, but the door falls open Clint and falls out onto the gravel and pukes so hard it hurts. His stomach clenches, and his throat burns, and he can't stop heaving even when there is nothing left but bile and saliva. He's crouched on all fours on a gravel road in the rain, and he has the feeling he's been here before but he can't remember when. Clint's arms are shaking from the effort of holding himself up. He vomits again. His face is a mess of snot and saliva, and maybe even a few tears because fuck, he hates puking.

When he stops, finally stops, Clint feels a hand on his shoulder tipping him back against the car. A water bottle appears in front of his face, the lid already removed for him. Clint takes a swallow and rinses the foul from his mouth, spits, and takes a deeper drink, trying to wash away the burning in the back of his throat.

Coulson's hand on his wrist stops Clint from drinking the whole bottle. “Easy, Barton. Just a little, you know the drill.”

Clint stops even though God he wants that water so bad. The only thing he wants more is not to puke again.

He sits there in the gravel beside the car long enough that the wet starts to soak into the ass of his pants.

Pants.

The last thing he remembers is Coulson cutting away his jeans and the needle piercing his skin. Clint flushes at the thought of Coulson dressing him, shoving his ass and flaccid dick into new boxers and clean pants. He immediately feels stupid for thinking of that. Coulson would be completely professional about it, and he would do it for any injured agent.

Still. Clint feels a small, stupid moment of regret that he was passed out. He loves Coulson's hands and how careful he always is to never hurt-

“Come on Barton. Let's get out of the rain, get moving again.”

Clint jolts. He'd forgotten where he is. He tries to cover his confusion and twists away to stand. Suddenly the pain rips through his side tearing and burning, making him gasp and fall back. He curls around himself and starts to fall away the wet gravel looming up. Coulson catches him before his face hits, holds him steady for a second.

Then Coulson jerks him to his feet quickly and the hurt rips through him again and Clint can't stop the sound it forces out of him through gritted teeth.

“Easy, Barton” Coulson says close to his ear, voice low and concerned.

Clint lets Coulson hold him up and maneuver him back into the car. His legs don't work, and his stomach rolls, and his head pounds, and everything is on fire again. He can't figure out how they got here, or where here is. All he knows is there is a piece missing from his side just above his hip, and there is sweat rolling down his spine, and he wants to curl up in a ball and pass the fuck out. Except he's half in and half out of the car and he can't make his legs work to drag them inside. And suddenly a wave of cold rolls over him, and he feels where the rain has soaked through his clothes, and he is shivering like a son of a bitch, and he can't do anything but moan and try not to fall over.

Coulson lifts his wet legs inside and Clint has a moment of complete gratitude that it's Coulson that is here because he would be so fucked on so many levels if it was any one of the many SHIELD agents who hate working with him.

Clint thinks again about his run through the forest and thinks about finding an empty road at dawn instead of the battered sedan and salvation. A tremor overpowering and involuntary wracks him and Clint feels like he is going to shake apart, suddenly cold and sick and miserable. He groans again and is to fucked up and hurt and pathetic to give a shit about hiding it.

“Easy Barton.” Coulson says suddenly on his other side, behind the wheel. “Easy,” he says tucking a blanket around his shaking freezing shivering shoulders.

“M' not easy,” Clint bitches.

Coulson huffs “You got that right,” he says and starts the car.


End file.
